


When Your Lungs Feel Like Lead & You Aren't Really There

by humancorn



Series: hannah's vent fics [1]
Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Angst, Hurt!Saguru, I'm so sorry, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, No Fluff, No comfort at the end, Panic Attacks, Saguru being Sad, So this is basically, coming soon: a collection of different characters i identify with reflecting my own mental issues, i've wanted to do a series like this for a while, mostly to vent and write about how i feel when things like this happen to me, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 01:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9213599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humancorn/pseuds/humancorn
Summary: Hakuba Saguru & Recurring Panic Attacks





	

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, this is just how I feel when I have panic attacks. Do not take this as an end-all-be-all representation of panic attacks because everyone feels them differently. So, yeah. Just...take this for what it is? I don't know.

Saguru stops, his pen stills, his eyes wide, and his body tense, rigid. His heart pounding nearly out of his chest, he can feel it begin. He knows what is happening, and he knows how to deal with it. Breathe in, hold that tangible, totally real, breath in his lungs for 15 seconds, release as slowly as possible, and repeat until calm. And that seems so easy. But when it begins, he forgets that prior inclination that breathing is easy, and it gives way to what he’s _feeling_. All he can think of is how his lungs feel like lead and the air is so hard, and feels like it’s not really there, not really moving in and out of his body, or maybe just not moving quick enough. His eyes dart around, looking for help, begging, begging, begging, all the while his heart pumps blood through his veins the way it would if he were sprinting a mile. He’s dying and he doesn’t know why.

He’s dying and he feels like screaming, but he’s frozen and he can’t scream when his lungs are lead and the air is molasses. His throat is raw with the silent scream caught in his throat; his eyes tired and red-rimmed. It’s only been 3 minutes. He’s been dying for three minutes and it’s so stupid. He breathes in, slow and painful, it feels like his lungs are ready to burst. His head is pounding, thoughts racing, and yet not exactly thinking about anything. And the mantra begins.

It’s so _stupid, he’s so stupid, why can’t he be normal, oh gods, why is he so weird, this is so weird, why can’t he ever be normal, why can’t he talk, scream, why does he **want** to scream, because he’s stupid, that’s why; why can’t he just STOP and get this over with because he knows it’s not **real** , he knows what’s happening but he can’t stop it, he can’t cope with it; he knows it’s stupid and that **hurts so much because he knows it’s irrational but it doesn’t seem to matter.** He’s stupid; he’s worthless; he’s **broken**._

He chances a glance at his watch. It’s been 10 minutes and he feels himself slowing down. His heart is still pounding, but it’s no longer sounding off in his ears and he can feel his lungs expand a bit more, a bit easier, a bit longer. He’s left with the distinct sensation that his own body is not his, he’s just floating around, moving but not moving, like he can’t actually touch anything or feel anything, or see anything. This is always the hardest part, and he knows, he fucking _knows_ , in his conscious mind that what he’s feeling can’t be real. He is physically there; he can feel things; he can see things. But actually connecting those foggy, vague, barely-there reassurances to make a cohesive decision and collect himself? He’s yet to figure out how to do that. His body won’t move. He can’t seem to get his brain to connect to his muscles, they feel like dead weight and suddenly he is exhausted.

He vaguely registers the school bell ring, and a moment later, he’s on his feet and packing his bags, but his mind doesn’t catch up until a few moments later and he wonders how he completely missed the transition between these two actions, but that fogginess is still there and he can’t focus. He’s shaking, but he can’t feel it. A hand lands on his shoulder and he notices it a few seconds later, slowly turning around to face a flushed Kuroba. Is he really there? What’s going on?

“Hakuba? Are you alright?” Kuroba’s voice was muffled, like he was talking through a pillow. A few seconds passed, processing.

“I’m fine.” Saguru shook the other boy off, packed the last of his things, and suddenly he was outside of the school building, with Kuroba tailing behind him.


End file.
